


The Not-So-Secret Santa

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: And very very gay, Gift Giving Gone Awry, Jeremy is awkward, M/M, Secret Crush, Secret Santa, Sex toy mention, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 11:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Jeremy is thrilled to draw the beautiful Jean Moreau as his work Secret Santa.  Unfortunately, sometimes we do dumb things when we're in a hurry.





	The Not-So-Secret Santa

**Author's Note:**

> From the Winter Prompts list by @veronicabunchwrites going around on Tumblr, " i get your name during secret santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend, so…sorry about all the sex toys" 
> 
> Thanks to @tntwme for the beta!

Jeremy checked his watch and cursed under his breath.  Of course he was going to be late to his first holiday party at the first job he’d ever had that he actually liked.  It’s supposed to be “fun,” but Jeremy knows how this goes: really, it’s an excuse for everyone to drink a bit too much and show off their significant others and their perfect little families and try to subtly one-up each other. 

Not that he minded being late, not really.  He was ashamed of how infrequently he talked to his family these days, and his mother had just been so happy he hadn’t had the heart to interrupt her.  The last eight months had been hard on them all, since he moved across the country in search of the perfect job. In search of himself, really. As much as he loved his family, they had never understood the restlessness that prowled under his skin.  The city understood it, though; it breathed and pulsed with his same rhythm. So did the friends he had found here. That itch to move, to do things, to _see_ things, had drawn them together into a little family of their own. Dysfunctional, for sure, he thought wryly, but what family wasn’t.

He shifted the box under his arm as he skidded around a corner and nearly dropped it.  Which, would just figure, after he had spent nearly an hour puttering around in the little pottery shop that he frequented to feed his mug addiction, and finally selected the perfect thing.  But his free hand managed to stabilize it before catastrophe struck, and finally, finally, he was pushing through the doors at the swanky restaurant. The smiling hostess escorted him through to the private room and he adjusted his tie one-handed and fastened on his grin as everyone turned to greet him.

With all the discretion of a bull in Pamplona, Jeremy scooted over to the small plastic tree and deposited his gift into the pile, well aware of the eyes that tracked him.  That was the biggest downside to being the last person there; any Secret component to his Santa was now officially spoiled. Not that he precisely minded if Jean knew Jeremy had drawn him for this idiotic gift exchange.   After all, it wasn’t like he had spent a few nights in the past couple of weeks fantasizing about Jean’s reaction or anything. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

Still, if there was one thing Jeremy was good at it was mingling.  He laughed and smiled and shook hands as he was introduced to the various spouses, and he ended up nibbling on bacon-wrapped scallops while talking to Mrs. Rhemann over by the punch bowl.  An hour passed, and Jeremy was feeling pleasantly warm and relaxed after his fourth glass of punch when suddenly someone called for everyone to gather around for gifts.

A flurry of voices and tearing paper followed, and Jeremy watched, amused, as his colleagues opened everything from novelty t-shirts to fancy popcorn.  When his name was called he was handed a bag which contained a sizable bottle of Bacardi. “Well, this will get some quick use!” he announced, and everyone gave an obligatory chuckle.

About two-thirds of the way through, Jean’s name was called.  Jeremy couldn’t help himself; he leaned forward, feeling his pulse in his fingertips.  Jean took the box with his usual shy smile and slowly began unwrapping it.

Jeremy frowned as the box was revealed; not the cream-colored paperboard from the pottery shop, but a plain, repurposed cardboard.  He knew that box, dear god he knew that box, but he couldn’t fathom how on earth he had ended up bringing Laila’s gift to the Christmas party.  Not that it mattered how; his doom was upon him and he had no clue what to do. Did he say something? Did he pray Jean wouldn’t pull out the gifts inside?  Did he pretend to stab himself with a cocktail fork? Did he _actually_ stab himself with a cocktail fork?

The only good option seemed to be to leap over the other office workers, yelling “Noooooooooooo,” like an action hero as he protected Jean—and the rest of his coworkers—from the horrors within, but his body was utterly unwilling to catch up to his brain.  He lurched to his feet just as Jean got the tape undone on the box. The couple people around him were staring up at him, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from Jean’s face as he looked inside.

Jean did a double take, and then started to laugh.  It started small, quiet; just a barely-audible shake of his shoulders, but as his face got redder it got louder until pretty soon he was laughing helplessly.  Jeremy had never seen Jean give more than a quiet chuckle before, but there were actual tears running down his perfect cheeks as he pulled out the XXL glittery hot pink dildo— complete with suction cup!—and let his hand drop on his lap, the dildo waving gently with the movement.  

Some sort of inhuman noise escaped Jeremy as Jean followed it up by pulling out the lacy thong, then the flavored lube, and then—yep, yep, that was the bullet vibrator.   _Fuck. Me._ Jeremy thought, as silence rippled over the gathered workers, the only noise now being Jean’s hiccoughing as he got control of his laughter.  Jean looked up and met Jeremy’s gaze, an unfamiliar warmth in his gray eyes. “I think you went over the twenty five dollar limit,” Jean said.

A surprised laugh burst from Jeremy’s throat, and though his face was on fire he pushed his way through the other people to get closer to Jean.  “I am so. Sorry.” Jeremy reached for the box but Jean held it out of reach. Stupid tall people. He settled for grabbing Jean’s arm and dragging him out of the room.  

“Oh my god.”  He covered his face in his hands for a moment, then looked up at Jean.  “I wrapped the gift I meant to give you and my friend’s gift at the same time, like a complete dumbass.  Oh my god.”

Jean arched a perfect eyebrow at him.  “Oh? You mean you didn’t intend to give a coworker you’ve known for three months a hundred dollars worth of sex toys?”

“The thing is, I got you, like, this amazing gift, and now it’s at home, and I’m here with a giant box of sex stuff about to get fired for being totally inappropriate—”

“You’re not going to get fired,” Jean said.  “Mr. Rhemann is in there laughing his ass off as we speak.”  When Jeremy looked at him skeptically, Jean gestured towards the private room and Jeremy turned to look.  It was true; pretty much all of his coworkers were falling over laughing or blotting at their eyes with their sleeves, including their CEO.

“I guess that’s...good?  Ugh, I am never, ever going to live this down.”

“Nope,” Jean said cheerfully.  “Now, down to the important stuff.  What did you actually get me?”

“Oh.  Um. It’s a sushi set?  Like, the little plates and the soy sauce bowl and one of those rectangle serving plate things.  It’s all handmade and it’s…” He trailed off at the strange look in Jean’s eyes.

“You got me a handmade sushi set?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy faltered.  “I heard you talking to Kylie about learning to make it.”

“That is…”  Jean cleared his throat.  “That is a very considerate gift.  As is this one,” he added, lifting the box, “for the right person.”

“What, you’re not into bottoming?” Jeremy asked, then clapped his hand over his mouth.  “Just kill me. Please, just kill me now, put me out of my misery.”

“I have a better idea.”

“Public humiliation has already been achieved.”

“No, not that.”  There was a smile in Jean’s voice, and it made his accent richer.  Jeremy’s heart gave a highly unwelcome thump in response. “How about instead, you take this to its rightful recipient, and you can deliver the correct gift in person.”

Jeremy reached out and took the box, nodding.  “That’s a good idea. That makes sense. Right.  I’ll bring it to work on Monday.”

Jean gave a tiny sigh that Jeremy might have imagined.  “I was thinking I might want it sooner. Maybe you could bring it to my apartment, tomorrow night?”

There weren’t too many times Jeremy was struck utterly mute, but this was one of them.  He felt his jaw dangling open in the most unattractive way possible, and shut it with a comically loud clack of his teeth.  “Are you asking me to dinner?”

Jean cocked his head and studied Jeremy for a long moment, then fished the thong out of the gap in the box.  “I think it is traditional for people to have at least one date before presenting each other with lingerie, don’t you?”

“You have very strange traditions.”  Jeremy couldn’t help his grin, breathless and sweating through his deodorant though he was.

“You’re the one who skipped a step.”  Jeremy laughed, and Jean smiled back, soft and sweet despite the amusement playing across his features.  “So is that a yes to eating sushi with me tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Jeremy whispered.  

Jean glanced over Jeremy’s shoulder, then back at him.  “We should probably get back to the party.”

Jeremy nodded dumbly and turned around to see every single person from their office plastered against the glass.  As soon as he faced them, they all erupted into cheers, raising their glasses in toast. “Oh. My. God.”

“Happy Holidays, Jeremy,” Jean said, nudging him with his arm.

Jeremy looked up at the beautiful man smiling down at him, then back at the room full of people who had taken him under their collective wing.  He thought of his apartment that would be full of his friends come Christmas, the family he had made in this snowy city so far from home. The new year was coming, and his future had never looked warmer.  Happy Holidays, indeed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help myself, I saw that prompt and this just had to happen.


End file.
